Scars on Your Wrists
by klinneah
Summary: There was no way he could have done anything more, but he still blames himself for letting the love of his life slip through the cracks.
1. Crimson on the Borrowed Floor

_You think I'm pretty without any makeup on, you think I'm-_

Goddammit. God_dammit_.

Couldn't Blaine have waited five more minutes? Tomorrow would have been even better. Say, couldn't he have waited till...next week?

Kurt snatches up the nearest non-designer bit of cloth he can find and presses it against the freshly bleeding crook of his elbow before fumbling for the cell phone that has somehow fallen off the counter and is now, maddeningly, dancing just out of his reach in its eagerness to alert him that he's about to miss Blaine's call. He fumbles for the 'answer' button and presses it just as Blaine is starting to leave a message.

"Yeah, Kurt, it's me, just wanted to - hey, Kurt, I know it's late, but I was just thinking about - Kurt...Kurt, what happened?"

It is a remarkable thing that each can tell if the other is hurting, even without words or body language. Or, at least, Blaine has this strange extra sense that connects him to Kurt so deeply that he knows instantly that nothing is all right. Might be kinda nice if that went both ways. Kurt knows that Blaine knows he is hurting more now than ever, and in a way he is grateful that he doesn't need to explain anything, at least for now.

"Blaine, I - " Words fail him. Of course Blaine will understand why he couldn't stay on the line. When they meet for coffee in the morning (like they always do on Saturdays; it's such a ritual that Kurt can hardly remember what he used to do with his Saturday mornings) he'll say his phone died, or the power went out, or some stupid explanation that Blaine won't believe for a second. But he'll pretend to anyway so that they can keep on pretending that there's nothing wrong between them (because they're supposed to _go the distance, _dammit) so that they can hold on to the scraps of what they _do _have as long as possible. They must be getting close to the last of them, though, or Kurt wouldn't be kneeling on the bathroom floor pressing Finn's dirty t-shirt into his arm to stop the bleeding (he won't apologize to Finn later, either). Despite his best efforts, Kurt begins to choke back a sob.

"Shh, Kurt, it's okay. You know I'm here for you." And _that _is why he begins to weep in earnest, because he _isn't_ there for anyone and that's how this whole mess got started in the first place. But Kurt starts babbling, through his crying, about how the end of the year was making all the teachers sadistic douches, how everyone in glee had hated him because _some of them _had gotten it in their heads that it was _his _fault that they hadn't started writing their songs until forty-eight hours before their performance, and talking about everything but what they _should_ have been talking about, and explaining everything when in all probability _Blaine_ should be the one explaining himself because since when did he start calling after nine-thirty anyway? But Blaine is patient and mutters little syllables that don't really mean anything other than than he's listening and he cares, and right now Kurt just can't bring himself to hate that nobody seems to be capable of telling the truth around here.

"Shh, shh, it's okay baby. whatever's going on, we can talk about this, like we always do, okay? And I know this is hard for you - " like hell he does, but whatever - "but you need to sleep, okay? Trust me, babe, you'll feel a little better in the morning."

"I just - _god_, Blaine, why does life have to suck right now?" He's not sure why he's asking, other than, well, _he_ doesn't know and so he might as well _begin_ to try to find someone who does.

"I don't know, baby. I don't know. But I love you and that's what counts, right?"

Kurt's heart just about stops right then, and he's pretty sure that Blaine's having trouble not breaking down. Hypocrisy will do that sometimes.

"I love you too, baby -" lies lies lies but seriously, what else is he supposed to say - "and I'm going to go to sleep now. I'll talk to you in the morning."

"Sweet dreams, Kurt."

"You too."

The fact that he has no idea whether Blaine actually disconnected ought to make him feel a margin less like shit, but since his arm starts bleeding again the moment he lifts Finn's t-shirt, it doesn't.

**Hey, so thanks for reading this first chapter of my debut entry to . I'm a little nervous about this (who wouldn't be?), mostly because I'm still trying to figure out how this publishing thing works, but also partly because I'd told myself that I wouldn't upload this story until it was finished, and, well, it's not. There ought to be two more chapters, and maybe an epilogue if it doesn't end as badly as I hope. Thanks for all the hits and alerts so far, and remember, reviews feed the plotmonster!**


	2. Butterflies Drawn in Permanent Ink

As the storm rages outside Kurt stares at the inconceivable torture that the Pre-Calculus Demon - excuse me, _teacher_ - has set before him. Graphs and equations dissolve into meaningless garbles interspersed with the high-school-ish scribbles that seem so long ago: "K + B 4EVER" scribbled in the margins of his calculus notes, flocks of tiny hearts on his science binder, and that giant "BLAINE + KURT" heart on a random page in his English notebook. His stomach churns as he slams the notebook shut, trying as he does so to shut out the memories ("Hey, what're you doing?" "Oh, nothing, just...daydreaming.") of a simpler time, when Kurt-and-Blaine were basically attached at the hip when anyone was around and the lip when no one was. God, why couldn't they have been a more _normal_ couple, without all the disgusting sappy cheesiness?

_You make me feel like I'm livin' a teenage dream, the way you-_

Jesus, can't he pick a better time than right in the middle of Kurt trying to study? Say, never again.

**From: Blaine 8:01 pm**

please open the window im gonna fall :'(

Raising an eyebrow, Kurt turns in his chair to see Blaine's absolutely pitiful-looking face pressed against his window. The rest of him too, actually, since he's standing on the windowsill, pressed as close to the window as possible in order to keep his balance. Really, that boy was practically prostrating himself against the glass in his eagerness to be out of the rain - pathetic. For reasons he'll never understand, Kurt sighs and lets him in, never mind the wet carpet.

"I come bearing gifts," Blaine offers solemnly after Kurt towels him off ("Christ, Blaine, way to give a man a heart attack," he jibes) and directs him to the one chair that won't mind getting damp. "Red Vines and old movies," Blaine says - "I picked out as many of your favorites as I thought I could fit." He holds up the clear plastic backpack. "I know...that this doesn't change anything. I know we still have our problems and our arguments and all that shit. But...please, just for tonight can we keep pretending that nothing's wrong? Because I kinda miss this." Kurt finally throws his hands up in defeat, because don't tell anyone, but he misses this too.

He gets on his hands and knees and digs around under his bed for the DVD player, pretending he doesn't notice that Blaine is politely distracting himself from a _very_ obvious chance to ogle by unzipping the backpack and thinking over which movies he'll ask Kurt if they can watch and which he should have left at home, because really, what was he _thinking_ when he put _Fight Club_ in there?

They finally settle on _The Sound of Music_ - not-so-secretly one of Blaine's favorites too - and sit awkwardly together on the bed, the DVD player propped between them, they not sure how close is too close and how far is too far. As the opening credits roll, Blaine slips an arm around Kurt's waist - or tries, anyway - and the younger jerks away as though he'd been burned.

"Blaine -"

"I'm sorry, I shouldn't have -"

"Blaine."

"I know you don't want -"

"_Blaine_. Shut up and watch the movie."

And that, Kurt supposes (remembering how, in the middle of Kurt's _second_ teenage crisis, when he wasn't Blaine's roommate at Dalton but he might as well have been for all the time they spent together, they used to watch this same movie late at night, saying the characters' lines right along with them because they'd seen it so many times, and generally having the time of their lives), is the end of that.

But he's forgotten how much of a _physical_ person Blaine is, not so much sexual as very, very fluent in body language and the subtleties beneath the verbal, less distressed by the fact that Kurt just wants to watch the movie (never mind that friend-ly and, later, boyfriend-ly cuddling _had_ been part of watching movies) than the fact that he doesn't want any sort of physical contact right now, which never used to happen unless he was very, very upset.

On a hunch, Blaine sits perfectly still, all throughout Maria's introduction to the non-musically-inclined Captain von Trapp, and when Kurt doesn't nudge him playfully when Maria meets Kurt von Trapp he knows for sure now something's up. Not as though he hadn't known perfectly well all along, mind you. He just hadn't quite been 100% certain of the scope and severity of the problem. Now he knows.

"Kurt," he tries, very quietly.

"Shut up," is the biting reply.

"Kurt, please listen." A sigh, then the DVD player closes on top of Maria's reprise of "Do Re Mi." Their eyes don't quite meet, but he's listening.

"Kurt, I just...I don't know what's going on with you, but it's eating you alive. I can see it in your bones. Just..." he exhales sharply, drawing Kurt's head up from the pillow and his eyes to Blaine's face, never softening but slowly...allowing. Blaine shakes his head. "I don't know what I did wrong."

His voice most certainly does _not_ crack on that last bit, not at all, but he feels the tears welling up behind his eyelids, anyway, and he sniffles pathetically at his own admission that somehow this _his_ fault, _his_ doing. Kurt seems to look away then, and when he speaks it's but a whisper of a ghost's shadow that crosses his face, but Blaine sees the phantom all the same.

"You did everything I could ever have asked of you, and more. Don't blame yourself." And the cracks in his porcelain control begin to show, and Blaine wants nothing more than to take this shattered boy into his arms and kiss the sea back into his eyes; but he merely slides his fingers into Kurt's palm and lets them rest together for a while. Kurt slips away for a moment, but when he is no longer afraid he asks Blaine with his eyes _give me your hand_, and he does. They hold fast against the storm outside that beats against their souls and threatens to wrench them apart with the force of its whispers.

Kurt smiles again, a little. There's a moment in which Blaine might allow himself to hope, to dream about NYU and a closet-sized burgundy apartment and summer nights tangled in each other, to plan the way they used to.

Then the ghost of a despair flits across Kurt's face and curls in Blaine's gut, twisting deep and settling to stay a long, long time; and the moment is gone.

**Thanks for sticking around for Chapter 2! I really, truly appreciate all the hits and alerts this story has gotten so far - honestly, I hadn't expected a single reader! Checking my email has become a happy part of my day again. Thank you! And remember, flames are for the fireplace, reviews feed the plotmonster, and critiques are the jackhammer to my writer's block!**


	3. But I Just Keep Quiet

The little coffee shop they've become so familiar with seems smaller, dimmer, than Blaine remembers. Maybe it's because Kurt's not here yet this time, but he takes the coffee and waits at their usual table, wrapping his arms around himself because it makes him feel a little more grounded.

When Kurt shows up it's not with his usual swagger and strut (seems everything's gotten smaller than Blaine remembers) and he barely glances around before getting in line. Blaine has to shout to get his attention, and gee, this is getting off to a great start, Blaine, yelling at your boyfriend. Kurt sits down, seeming very far away and letting the silence hang awkwardly between them. Blaine clears his throat.

"Kurt," he begins.

"First let me say something," Kurt says. His voice is hoarse, like he's been crying all night (he has), and now that Blaine is paying attention he sees that his eyes are glassy and swollen and his hands are trembling. He nods, trying to swallow down the lump forming in his throat and ignore the growing apprehension crackling in the air.

Kurt takes a deep breath, closes his eyes. And the words that come pouring out of his mouth like he wants to be rid of them are the worst sounds Blaine has ever heard in his life.

"We have to break up."

He wants to shriek _no no no what are you saying_ and take Kurt's face in his hands and make whatever he did right because _fuck, what did I do wrong_ and between them they might cry enough to flood the place. The floor is spinning out from underneath him and he's breathing but he can't get any air into his lungs and he feels like he's going to drown or faint or throw up or all three at once.

Kurt's still talking, but there's a rushing in his ears that keeps him from focusing on anything but _we're alone, we're two people orbiting together then apart, aw fuck what am I gonna do_ until Kurt snaps his mouth shut and looks at him as though everything is breaking.

"Blaine. You're not even listening. You've zoned out. Hello? Earth to Blaine," he snaps, his face caught somewhere between furious, resigned, and melancholy. Blaine sits up with a start, hoping he hasn't started crying. _I'm crying, aren't I, oh Jesus, why..._ and the world does a tilt-a-whirl before he can get to his feet.

"Why?" He didn't mean to crack, not then, and not now when Kurt's just looking at him like his whole world is crumbling before them both. Kurt just shakes his head, _not now_, and looks away as though to hide his welling tears. Blaine lunges, grabbing Kurt's face in both hands and looking the boy in the _soulful beautiful terrible_ eyes.

"I thought we could fix this. I thought we _were_ fixing this." His voice is more broken spoken than it was inside his head, and fuck it all if he's going to back down now but really this is harder than the movies make it look. "This is...this isn't fixing it. Us. This is breaking us. This is _destroying _us." And he is broken, already, just look at the way his lip trembles and his vision begins to blur when Kurt, gently, pulls away, shakes his head, and stands to leave.

Blaine lets him go.

xoxo

**Thank you so much, everyone, for all your support and kind words. I know I'm not the most popular writer out there, but really, this is more than I could have hoped for when I was just starting out. I'm up to 489 hits (and 301 visitors, which I'm told is a more accurate reading of traffic) on my very first story. So thank you, spread the word (put it on your rec list! Right...), and hang on tight because we're almost done! Reviews feed the plotbunnies, and flames go in the fireplace!**


	4. I Lost a Friend Somewhere

It's hard to shake the feeling that everything is about to come to a head.

First of all, Finn doesn't normally call him. Well, he does, normally when he's bored and wants someone to blow up pixel zombies with, but he normally doesn't sound that upset, which leads Blaine to believe that something more is wrong than a broken TV or xBox.

Second, Mercedes doesn't usually text him eight times in an hour. Well, she does, but normally it's something like "hey boo how u been lsten kurt wans 2 go 2 tha mall l8er so well tlk to u!" but, since yesterday, he hasn't gotten a single text that didn't utilize perfect spelling, grammar, and punctuation. And most of them had an eerily somber tone. These oddities of the digital variety lead Blaine to believe this is about more than he's been told thus far.

Third, Puck _never_ texts him. Ever. Blaine's about ninety percent sure Puck hadn't had his number. But there it is: "dude check on kurt he's bein all mopey an shit". Blaine peers at it, turns the phone upside down to see if it's just a technical glitch. Nope; Puck really did get a hold of his number somehow, and he really did text Blaine to make sure Kurt was all right.

The kicker comes when he's still reeling from Mercedes's perfectly proper texts and Puck getting his number, and he gets a buzz from _Kurt of all people:_

**From: Kurt 2:16 pm**

Just remember, I always loved you and I'll never say goodbye.

_Remember kids, cryptic text messages are the perfect way to clear up _everything, he thinks rather meanly, before sending off a reply ("I'll always love you. I wish you'd reconsider, but I'll try to understand.") and pocketing the phone with a frown.

Suddenly, everything clicks into place, and he races to his car, tripping over his feet along the way, fumbling with the keys and everything is _too fast, too slow, too much too little too soon too late_.

Blaine hopes against hope that he's not too late.

An hour and a half later (_too long_, and that's with breaking a million and one traffic laws on the way) the Hummels' driveway arcs along the hill in front of him, thank God. He can only see Kurt's car, parked in its usual spot right by the side door - odd. The windows out front are dark, with the shades drawn - also odd. He shakes off the cold foreboding that settled in his stomach somewhere around the highway, and he takes the front steps two at a time to knock on the door.

It swings open with a creak, and the house beyond is dark. Silence hangs heavy in the dim hallway while he tentatively creeps toward the living room, feeling only a little like a stalker in the so-far empty house. Living room empty. Kitchen dark. Stairwell - well, he was headed up there anyway, and it's not like he's upset when Kurt comes padding into the living room, looking (to put it lightly) like a hot mess.

"Oh." Just one little word, more of a grunt really, is enough to bring yesterday into the forefront of his mind and somehow the air seems heavier, harder to move through, harder to breathe so they stand face-to-face without actually looking at each other. Kurt's mouth opens, closes, opens again, closes; he takes a deep breath.

"I thought nobody was here," he says, sounding much worse than yesterday (which was bad in and of itself) and Blaine suddenly (irrationally) hopes his nose isn't running, because he doesn't really feel like sniffling. "I didn't expect to see you again. Not today." He turns away, heads back upstairs, and when Blaine tries to follow he sighs.

"Go home, Blaine. I can't bear to talk to you right now."

Which is odd, because _weren't you the one who said we had to end_ but if he remembers correctly then Kurt was just as torn up about that as Blaine was. Which makes even less sense, but Kurt's disappeared into the bathroom and Blaine's feet seem to be rooted to the kitchen tile. An analog clock on the living room wall suddenly sounds much louder in the silence Kurt left behind, and as Blaine looks around the kitchen he feels the cold foreboding coiling in the pit of his stomach like a poisonous snake. He can't bring himself to go upstairs.

Soon the eerie quiet becomes too much, so he begins to pace around the room (_just go upstairs what is your problem just go upstairs go upstairs just go just go just go_) and every tick of the clock makes his heart thump madly and _Kurt is still in the bathroom_ what if -

There's a clatter, a curse, a gasp of pain that sends him into the full-blown all-the-bells-hollering panic-mode that sends him tearing up the stairs, and makes the next few minutes stretch out before him like time is standing still but he'll remember it later as a blur of frantic actions and reactions -

- _shit what's going on in there please tell me oh fuck fuck fuck -_

He slams his shoulder into the weathered door, wrenching at the knob but the damn thingwon't budge -

-_ please be okay oh god all my fault all my fault fuck what if he's dying shit please be okay all my fault all my fault -_

- two more shoves and there's a snap as the lock finally gives and the door falls open far too fast -

- _oh god he's dead isn't he all my fault, wrong, all wrong, can't breathe can't see, all wrong, happening all wrong not supposed to happen please -_

- Kurt lying on the cold tile, slumped against the vanity with one arm still propped straight up, more blood than Blaine has ever seen in his life on the sink, on the floor, _pouring_ -

- _can't breathe, can't remember, are these tears they're falling down my face, can't remember anything but Kurt's dying, Kurt's dying - _

- bluegreengray eyes fluttering open closed open closed and Blaine moving to gather him into his arms and kiss the storms away from the sea in his eyes -

- _please god I'm going to lose him everyone is going to lose him shit he's going to _die_ he's oh fuck please god -_

_- _cradling Kurt's head in the crook of his elbow and reaching to close his hand over the limp pale wrist that empties more blood with every heartbeat than Blaine knew was contained in an entire body but it won't stop won't stop _won't stop -_

_- eyes fluttering open closed open closed not seeing not focusing I'm right here baby look me in the eyes so I know you know and _blood, blood everywhere -

- Kurt's right hand, wrist unmarked by self-hatred, clenches on Blaine's jacket as his breaths shorten and his lips part more with every shallow rise and fall of his chest -

- _life is too short for regrets without love but he has the wild, irreverent thought that if Quinn were to stumble upon this madness, Kurt cradled tenderly in Blaine's lap as he gently kisses the last vestiges of life goodbye, she might be reminded of the Pieta and he laughs (just a little, and it sounds harsh and foreign) at what he can come up with sometimes -_

_- _and he can't stop whispering I love you, I love you, I love you like a mantra, like a spell to bring back the dead and he closes his eyes to dam them up -

- _breathing only becoming shallower, chest rising and falling sharply, quicker, heavier, as though by breathing more the missing gallons of blood are of no importance and _he's trying to talk_ but there's so much blood, not enough time -_

"Blaine...I'm sorry."

And just like that, a tiny piece of the solar system (not enough, but enough for now) slides back into place, the corner of reality that was Kurt-and-Blaine, together, orbiting intertwined as if forever, sometimes falling away but always together and never apart. Blaine opens his eyes and looks into Kurt's, brushing away a tear with his thumb.

"Blaine, I'm sorry, I'm sorry," come the whispers that have strength enough to leave Kurt's lips but not much more. Blaine only smiles wanly, because he knows. He's known all along.

"It's alright, Kurt. I love you, I love you."

"Blaine." More urgent now, frightened; he doesn't have the time nor the strength to say everything, but Blaine hears everything unsaid and remembers, so he can tell them all later that Kurt thought of them all at the very end. Kurt's hanging by one fragile thread of regret, and he has to make amends.

"I'm sorry, Blaine, so sorry. I never should have...I thought..."

Blaine understands, of course he does.

"I know. I love you." Kurt smiles at last.

"After all this time?"

"Always."

And Kurt holds his gaze even after that _something_ vanishes from his eyes, and Blaine spins out of orbit, utterly destroyed.

**We have finally reached the end! Thank you, to all you folks who submitted reviews, added this story to your favorites, put it on alert, or even just clicked out of curiosity and decided it wasn't your thing. Despite this being my debut to the site, I've had a response far beyond anything I expected. Give yourselves a round of applause.**

**If anyone is interested in the playlist I listened to on repeat while writing this final chapter, I'll have that available in my profile sometime soon.**


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